Page 79 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)
“I’d like to make a toast,” he announces, projecting his voice across the room as he extends his glass to me.
“To my beautiful wife, Selene. We have had a trying year, and I’m proud to say we’ve come out on the other side of it stronger and even more in love than before.
” My stomach turns as he continues, speaking about the depth of his feelings for me like he’s not the same man who cheated on me and hasn’t shared my bed in months.
I can’t help but slide uneasy looks to Cal and Beck to see how they’re reacting, and it’s not good.
Cal’s jaw is tense, and Beck’s nostrils are flared, but they’ve both got their glasses raised and strained smiles pointed in my direction.
The smiles falter and crack when Aubrey finishes with me and turns to them.
“And to the two men who saved my wife , who put their own lives on the line to bring her home to me.” He places his free hand over his heart, and his wedding band shines under the radiant light of the chandelier above us.
“Agent Beckham. Agent Drake. There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude, so I offer you this.
” From the table, he grabs two square, navy boxes and hands one to Cal and the other to Beck.
Everyone watches, riveted, as they open them, but only the people closest to them can see the gold-plated American flag pins.
“Of course,” Aubrey continues, “these are merely symbolic. You won’t be able to wear them when you officially return to the Service as the heads of my Presidential detail because they don’t meet official attire guidelines.”
He lets out a hearty laugh that trickles through the room, touching every person except for the three of us.
Shock and displeasure roll across Cal and Beck’s features, but I’m the only one who sees it.
The only one who knows how unfair it is that their dream detail is being offered to them by my husband, of all people.
The only one who hopes they will turn him down to prevent the creation of another obstacle between us.
The only one who rejoices when they ask him for time to think about it.
Aubrey is surprisingly gracious in the face of what I pray is the beginning of their rejection, asking them to let him know by the morning.
After that, the evening winds down, and we leave, riding home in silence that eats me alive the longer it goes on.
When we enter the house, Aubrey heads for his office, and I dog his steps instead of going to my room.
He doesn’t even turn around when he hears my heels clicking on the tile, doesn’t say a word when I stand behind him while he unlocks his office door.
He smiles.
He smiles as he lets me into the office first, and as he shuts the door behind us.
He smiles as he moves over to the bar in the far corner and pours us both two fingers of whiskey.
He smiles as he presses the tumbler into my hand and sits down on the edge of the desk in front of me, crossing his ankles before he takes a sip.
“It’s a 1969 Macallan,” he tells me, holding the glass up so light can filter through the amber liquid. I take a sip and gag, putting my glass on the desk beside him.
“It’s gross.”
“I like it.” He polishes off his and then picks up my abandoned serving, sipping from it slowly. “Did you have something you wanted to discuss, darling? Perhaps the offer I made to your boyfriends?”
There’s so much conviction in his tone, I know he’s not speaking from a place of suspicion any longer, which means there’s no point in pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“They won’t accept your offer.”
“What makes you so sure? Because they love you? Because they’ve fucked you? Do you think some mediocre pussy is going to keep them from the detail of their dreams?”
Even in the face of his insults, I can’t help but notice that Aubrey refers to Cal and Beck the way everyone does.
As a unit. A singular entity. My mind goes to the day we met in the hallway, the kiss in Houston, the image of them on the terrace tonight, and the relationship they had before they ever knew who I was.
All those times, all those instances, come together to remind me of a lifetime of standing on the margins of existing relationships, on the edges of bonds I should have been a part of, and suddenly I don’t feel so sure.
I want to be.
I want to look at Aubrey and tell him they’ll choose me and believe it, but all I know for certain is that Cal and Beck will always have each other.
They’ll always choose each other. And maybe this time they should.
Maybe I should want them to choose their careers and the path Aubrey is offering them because how is it fair for me to want them to walk away from their dreams when I can’t even leave this fucking marriage?
“I heard you,” Aubrey says, pushing off the desk to pour himself another drink as he answers a question I haven’t asked. “That night in the hotel, calling out their names.”
His imitation of me moaning for Cal and Beck makes bile rise in my throat. I swallow it down, which is a mistake because it’s tinged with the flavor of that awful whiskey that burns even worse the second time around.
“After that, I knew something was up. I just needed proof.”
“That’s why you sent them to Houston with me.”
As grateful as I was for that time alone with Cal and Beck, I knew something was off about the whole situation. Aubrey and Jordan were too agreeable when it came to the tight turnaround time, and then, of course, there was the issue of us being sent out all on our own.
The crystal decanter clinks against the stone counter. Aubrey shoots me a slick grin over his shoulder. “That’s the only reason I let you go to Houston.”
“ Let me?”
“Yes, Selene, let.” He saunters from the bar to the chair behind his desk and sinks into the plush leather, regarding me with a smug smile. “You don’t get it, do you? There’s not a single thing you can do in this world without my permission, including have an affair.”
Crossing my legs, I sit back in my seat, trying to understand where he’s going with this. “So that’s what this is about? You want to give me your blessing?”
He scoffs loudly. “Absolutely, not.”
“Then what’s the point, Aubrey? Are you going to force me out now that you have proof of me breaking the contract?” I pause, my brows wrinkling. “I assume you have proof, right?”
“Of course, I have proof.”
In seconds, I’m holding a folder not too different from the one I presented to him and Jordan all those months ago.
Inside it are photos of me leaving Cal’s house in the wee hours of the morning.
There are close-up shots of me kissing both men goodbye, and I’m struck with the strongest sense of yearning.
Not just for them, but for every moment we shared that led up to that goodbye, for the softness of the kisses and the promise that we’d see each other soon, if only in passing.
“What happens now?” I ask, closing the folder. “Do you have Jordan sell these to the highest bidder and publicly humiliate me? Do you divorce me and move Sutton into the White House, let her be your perfect little, cookie-cutter First Lady?”
I’m so tired, so emotionally and mentally exhausted, I can’t even bring myself to care.
Part of me hopes he will do precisely that, so I can leave him.
I’d be ruined, but I’d be free, and it would be his fault that I didn’t change the world in the name of our son.
My stomach twists at the thought, making it clear that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself or that reality.
Aubrey drums his fingers on the desk near his empty glass. “No, Selene, I’m not going to do any of those things.”
“Why not?”
Because Sutton’s face isn’t on the cover of every magazine right now.
Her kidnapping, rescue, and subsequent recovery aren’t the topic of millions of social media posts and countless news segments every day.
Sutton is worthless to me, and you, my dear, have given me the most political capital I’ve had since AJ died, and I intend to use every bit of it.
I can’t do that if you’re distracted with your boyfriends, so I’m dangling a carrot in front of their faces, giving them something better to do so you can focus on being my First Lady and making those changes you’ve been so desperate to see in the world. ”
I frown, hating everything he’s just said, but especially hating how nonchalant he is about how he’s benefited from our son’s death. That hate sends me to my feet, and I slam my palms on his desk, leaning over to spit it in his face.
“You’re a heartless bastard, do you know that?
How do you take the most horrific things that have happened to me—AJ’s death, being kidnapped and held hostage for days—and make them about you?
Aren’t you even a little bit ashamed of yourself, Aubrey?
Don’t you find it the least bit disturbing that you would go out of your way to take the one thing that’s given me happiness since AJ died? ”
He blinks slowly, completely unmoved. “I’m not taking anything away from you, Selene. You are free to leave whenever you want.”
“You know I can’t.”
“ AND, ” he continues, talking over me. “All I’ve done is give your boyfriends a choice. It’s up to them if they decide not to choose you.”